


My Shivered Bones

by hesperia



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-22
Updated: 2012-07-22
Packaged: 2017-11-10 11:15:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/465642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hesperia/pseuds/hesperia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day they burn Jon Snow's body is the cold kind of day that freezes the air in your lungs, that burns all the way down as you inhale it. Val has felt these kind of days before, when her and Dalla were just girls living with the free folk, before Mance Rayder had joined the Night's Watch, before he'd come back to them, before they'd ever met Jon Snow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Shivered Bones

The day they burn Jon Snow's body is the cold kind of day that freezes the air in your lungs, that burns all the way down as you inhale it. Val has felt these kind of days before, when her and Dalla were just girls living with the free folk, before Mance Rayder had joined the Night's Watch, before he'd come back to them, before they'd ever met Jon Snow. The pyre of bodies burn bright, Bowen Marsh, Wick Whittlestick, Rory, Horse, and Jon. _It seems wrong that he should burn with the men who betrayed him_ Val thinks, and her gloved hand sinks into Ghosts fur as he sits next to her feet, pressing his nose against her thigh. _Do you miss him as much as I do?_ she wonders, and Ghost whines as if in response. 

There had been a heavy tension at Castle Black since the attack, a dark somber mood that seemed to touch them all. The post of Lord Commander remains empty, and every day more and more wildlings head South for the Gift. They have no reasons to stay now, not even the promise of food and shelter convince them to stay, not when the ever-present danger that the Night's Watch will use them as fodder against the wights and the white walkers. It had been Jon who held them all together, the wildlings, the Queen's men, even his own Black Brothers. Without Jon, it all seems very pointless. Val knows that Tormund only stays for her, because Val cannot bring herself to leave, after she has seen Jon's body turned to ash then she will be able to let herself admit that he is gone. 

Those who had gathered to watch the pyre be lit have trickled away, and Val is grateful for the silence, only the sound of the crackle and hiss of the fire in her ears. She would be warmer in her attic chambers of Hardin's tower, but she stays because if it had been her on the pyre, she knows Jon would have stayed, would have been the last to watch the fire extinguish upon itself. 

"Here my lady," Satin says, as he comes to stand beside her and hands her a cup of mulled wine. "To keep you warm."

She takes the cup from him, drinking the luke warm wine quickly before it freezes in the cup. Satin stands with her for a long time, and she sees the longing in Satin's eyes that she feels in her own. Jon had seen something in Satin that no else had taken the opportunity to, Satin had told her days ago when they had stood over Jon's dead body. He had made Satin want to be more than what he was, to be as good as Jon thought him to be. 

_Damn you and your bloody kneeler's honor, Jon Snow,_ Val thinks angrily, her eyes burning hot with tears. _If you had taken Stannis up on this offer you would be in Winterfell by now._ The wind changes often, blowing hard across the yard of Castle Black, the black smoke thick and acrid as it swirls around her and makes her choke; she presses the back of her hand to her mouth and tries not to wretch at the smell of burning flesh until the wind changes again and swirls away. 

It is sometime past midnight when Dolorous Edd brings her a heavy fur cloak, putting it over her shoulders, on top of her own furs. She recognizes it, knows it belonged to Jon, and she holds it tight around herself, burying her nose into the collar, wishing she could smell his scent, the mixture of wood smoke and cloves from the mulled wine he always drank, but all she can smell is burning flesh and the rosemary oil she put on her wrists earlier, more out of habit than anything else. Jon had like the scent of rosemary, he had told her that once. The fire has warmed the stones of the wall behind her, and she leans back against it, gathering what little warmth she can find. It's been painfully cold for days now, and more than once she's found Ghost laying next to her above her furs, his nose tucked under her arm or in the crook of her neck. 

Val's eyes burn from the smoke and she means to close them only for a moment, but it is Ghost's howl that wakes her, startles her and makes her inhale the frigid air deeply and she blinks open her eyes. Ghost is standing in front of her, howling as loud and ferociously as Val has ever heard. It is then that she sees him, the naked figure standing where the pyre had been, there the charred rubble of wood and bones lines smoking around him. She knows it is Jon by the cut of his shoulders, by the way he holds himself, by the thick, dark hair that curls around his head. 

Her hand goes to the dagger in her belt as he begins to walk toward her and Ghost stops howling, padding over to nuzzle his nose against Jon's hand, as Val has seen him to a hundred times. He keeps walking towards her and Val finds herself stepping away from the wall and towards him. Around her she can hear the yelling of men and women, can hear the thunder of feet as people come running, but all she can see is Jon's face. His eyes are not the bright blue she was expecting, still grey and soft, almost violet in the bluish tinge of dawn. 

His chest and throat are free of blemish, no scars from the mutinous knives of his brothers, even his hand that had been once scarred from fire itself looks as though it has never seen battle. Val leaves her dagger in her belt and lifts the heavy black cloak from around her shoulders, placing it over him as he stands in front of her. When she pulls off her glove, her hand reaching out to cup his cheek in her palm, she finds his skin warm to the touch. 

-

"I'm coming with you," Val says, standing in Jon's chambers in the armory. It's been less than a day since the fire, but Jon wants to waste no time in going to find Stannis, if he's even still alive. "Tormund and many free folk are coming too." 

Jon stops to look at her with a surprised look on his face. "They are?" 

Val nods, "Tormund respects you, the free folk respect you. They are alive because of you, because you respect them, because you were one of us once. They will go where you go. Without you at the Wall, they have no reason to stay." 

Jon stuffed the last few bits of clothing into his bag and pulled it shut. "I cannot guarantee them anything if they come with me, only death." 

"And if we stay we will most certainly die, for who would be the vanguard against the Others? The queen's men? Your Black Brothers? I think we've all seen just how craven they are." They stand silently facing each other for a moment, they have not spoken of the fire, of the fact that Jon was dead and now he is alive. She had tried to bring it up once, but he had changed the subject and his eyes had told her not to push the matter. "Will you tell Stannis that his red woman's magic rose you from the dead?" 

Jon's face darkens. "You know I only believe in the Old Gods, like you do." 

"That doesn't mean the red woman's magic is any less real." 

"Enough! Go get the child ready, and his nurse." Jon anger doesn't startle Val but she nods, moving to slip out of the door. 

"Your Old Gods say there is only one thing that fire cannot kill, Lord Snow. Is that an easier thing to accept?" Val says, as she leaves his chambers, pulling up her hood as she heads out into the cold. Every day the air is colder, the snow heavier and ice thicker. _Winter has come,_ Val thinks, _Whether the old men in chains send their white ravens or not, we have seen the last of autumn for a very long time._

Melisandre is with the babe and Magda, and Val's stomach turns at the idea of the woman touching him, holding him. She's become so fond of the little monster, and even though he is not her kin by blood, there is a deep unsettling fear in her stomach when she sees Melisandre holding him. 

"Princess," Melisandre says, as Val enters, handing the child back to Magda. "It would seem such a dangerous journey for a child, he may catch a chill and be lost to us before you lose sight of the Wall." 

"That child has the blood of the first men in his veins, he is made of stronger stuff than your queen's sickly child." Val says, and the look that settles on Melisandre's face is one of angry resignation, but resignation all the same. Val will not leave the child to be sacrificed to her Red Gods, or will she allow him to stay here with that little girl and the death that follows her. 

Melisandre is quiet as she watches Val and Magda collect the few things they will need on the journey, and her presence irritates Val, puts her on an even sharper edge than Jon's refusal to acknowledge his rising. 

"The Queen wishes to speak with Lord Snow, she has some concerns with him leaving so suddenly." 

"Lord Snow is in his chambers," Val says, not glancing up from where she is wrapping the child in extra layers of wool. "I'm sure he would be happy to receive you." 

Melisandre slips out of the room without another word and Val sighs, the tension in her chest already disappearing. She holds the babe in her arms, his fat little cheek against her lips. Val does not think she will ever consider having children of her own, not after seeing Dalla suffer so terribly, the light fading from her eyes; but when Val holds Gilly's child in her arms, breathes in the sweet scent of his hair, feels the soft skin of his cheek, she wonders for one quick moment if maybe the sacrifice is worth it. 

They leave mid-morning, Jon and Tormund at the front, Val and Magda behind them, the child strapped to Magda's chest, his face hidden from the wind and the cold, and Dolorous Edd, Satin and the free folk behind them. Val does not know if Jon ever spoke with the Queen, but she does not bid them farewell, nor do her men and Val wonders how long they will survive without the free folk to man the Wall. 

Despite constant snow and wind against their favor, they move quickly down through the Gift. Some of the free folk choose to stay in the Gift, and some join Jon's cause just as quickly. The child fares well, and at night Val and Magda sleep huddled close together, the child nestled between them, but Val misses the warmth of Ghost against her back that she has become accustomed to. 

It is a surprise to all of them when they come across Ser Massey and the Braavosi banker, and the girl who Ser Massey presents to Jon as his sister Arya. She does not look much like Jon. Though her hair is dark like his, her eyes are bright and blue, and her face looks as though it had once been pretty but her cheeks are gaunt and the tip of her nose mangled from frostbite. When Jon says she is not his sister at all, but the daughter of his father's steward the girl cries, her face in her hands. She cowers as he walks toward her, dropping to one knee, his hand on her chin. 

"I promise I will see you safe, Jeyne," Jon says, and she looks at him warily through her tears. "I will not send you back to him." 

That night, with Jeyne safely tucked into the furs with Magda and the babe, Val makes her way to where Jon is laying, Ghost next to him, though the wolf barely makes a sound when Val slips underneath the furs before Jon can protest. 

"What are you doing here?" Jon asks, trying to turn so that her body is not curved against him, but Ghost refuses to budge, leaving Jon no choice but to slip his arm around Val. 

"I gave my spot to Jeyne," Val says, pulling the furs tight around her. "Would you rather I go bed down between Ser Massey and his men?" Jon's arm tightens just enough that Val smiles to herself, leaning back until she can feel Jon's breath against her neck where her hood has fallen down. 

"I wanted her to be Arya so badly," Jon whispers into her hair.

"Be grateful she is not," Val says, turning her head to look at Jon. "Jeyne was tortured and raped at the hands of this man you call the Bastard of Bolton. Be grateful your sister did not have to endure such things." 

Val can see the wet tracks of stray tears on his cheek and reaches over to wipe them away, turning her body to face him. "Are you going to accept Stannis' offer to be Lord of Winterfell?" 

Jon nods, and he slips his arm back over Val's waist, his hand resting on the flat of her lower back. 

"And the rest of his offer?" Val asks, because ever since she saw him standing in front of her, his own funeral pyre behind him, the only thing she could think about was how much she wanted him, how much he meant to her; how she had finally understood what Dalla had felt for Mance, something that she had never felt with Jarl, because despite how much she had cared for him, what she felt for Jon, what she _feels_ for him, it is deeper and stronger. 

Jon's grip tightens around her, and he pulls her close, flush against his body, his leg slipping between her thighs, but it is Val who kisses him first, who presses her mouth to his because she cannot spend one more minute wondering how it will feel to have his mouth on her. He is slow to respond, but eventually he begins to move his mouth against hers, slipping his tongue into her open mouth to deepen the kiss as he turns his body just enough to lean over her. He kisses her long and slow, taking his time to explore her mouth with his tongue, as if to learn every secret part of it, and Val feels heat flushing through her body, warming her in way she hasn't felt in months. 

Ghost growls from behind Jon, as if to say he's annoyed they have woken him, and they laugh quietly against each other, their kisses playful as Jon kisses her cheeks, her nose, her chin and she does the same to him. She settles into his arms, her face against his neck and her arm around his waist. 

-

They part ways with Ser Massey and Tycho the following morning, but Jeyne stays with them at Jon's insistence, despite her pleas on never wanting to return to Winterfell. Val has half a mind to convince Jon to let her go if Jeyne will stop crying, but Jeyne eventually stops when Jon puts his arm around her, talking softly into her ear. They may not be kin, but there is a brotherly familiarity in the way he talks to her, the way he touches her face to wipe the tears from her cheeks. 

"You'll ride with Val," Jon says, Jeyne's slight body barely making a different to Val's palfrey as he helps her onto the horse, sitting her in front of Val. Even beneath her cloak and furs, Jeyne's hips are sharp against Val's as Val slips her arms around the girl's waist, pulling her back so they sit snug together. 

It's mid day by the time Jeyne finally speaks, her voice soft and timid. "Are you Jon's wife?" she asks, turning her head to look at Val. 

"I'm going to be," Val answers, her hands tight on the reins as they ride.

"But you already share his furs..." Jeyne says, her eyes wide and Val can't help from laughing, her laugh loud enough that Jon turns his head over his shoulder to look at her for a moment. "I do share his furs, but Jon Snow has more honor than one man should." 

Jeyne blushes, and looks away for a moment. "Don't you care that he's a bastard?" 

"He's going to be Lord of Winterfell," Val says, and from the look on Jeyne's face she can tell the girl is surprised. "King Stannis has offered to legitimize him, though whether he's a bastard or not makes no difference to me. He's still the same man beneath his breeches." Jeyne blushes even harder at Val's words, and Val can't be bothered to correct Jeyne, her patience already wearing thin. 

"He looks different than when we were children," Jeyne says, when the color has finally left her cheeks. "He used to be so sullen, always a frown on his face." 

_He's still that way,_ Val thinks, but she stays quiet, now more interested in what Jeyne has to say. Jeyne recounts Jon's childhood carefully, she speaks of him being separate from the other Stark children, "He always got along well with Robb," Jeyne says, and a soft dreamy look comes over her face and for a moment Val thinks she sees the beautiful girl Jeyne might have been once. "He was still a bastard though, and he was never truly one of them." 

_He had always been an outsider,_ Val thinks, _At home, on the Wall, even when he was with us North of the Wall._ "You kneelers are funny people," Val says, a strange ache in her chest she can't quite name. "Blaming a boy for something his father did." Jeyne doesn't say anything after that, but Val feels her sigh, and later when she looks down she sees the girl has fallen asleep, her head resting against Val's shoulder. 

They ride into the camp at dusk, tents and fires of Stannis' army coated in the blue, dying light. Jeyne cries when they pass a head on a spike being picked at by crows. Jon too looks momentarily shocked, but before his face darkens and he rides ahead before Val can question him. 

"Who was that on the spike?" Val asks Jeyne as they dismount. Jeyne's legs almost give out on her when they stand, and Val curses silently as she slips her arm around the girl's slim waist to help her up. "Did you know him?"

"It was no one," Jeyne whispers, looking down at the muddy ground. "Just a traitor." 

Val leaves Jeyne in Magda's care, thankful to be away from the girl, and walks over to where Jon is standing with Tormund. Ghost paws at her leg until she reaches down to scratch behind his ears. "Stannis?" 

Jon motions to the tent a few strides away. "Devan's just gone to see if he'll see us." 

Val looks at him in disbelief, and Tormund barks out a laugh. "You see, Snow? I told you I wasn't the only one who thought you should walk right in." 

Jon opens his mouth to protest to both of them but Stannis is walking toward them, and the look on his face is not one of friendly greetings. 

"You'd better have a damn good reason for being here, boy," Stannis says, glaring at Jon, even harder once he sees Val standing next to him. 

"Your Grace..." Jon begins, but Stannis holds up his hand. 

"We'll speak in my tent," Stannis says, and he motions for them to walk. Val and Tormund move to follow but it is Stannis' firm "Alone," that keeps them standing where they are, watching as Jon follows the king into his tent. 

It's late when Jon finally comes to Val's tent, and she wakes from her chair to find him standing over the brazier, warming his hands. He's standing in just his breeches and shirt, the collar undone and hanging open, drooping low on his chest. He looks tired, his head and shoulders stooped as he warms himself. 

"There's food, if you're hungry," Val says, when she stands from the chair, pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders. She pours him beer from the heavy jug, and he takes it gratefully. "It's not hard tack and biscuits," Val says with a small smile, knowing how much Jon despises both those things. 

It surprises her when he reaches for her, slipping his arm around her hips to pull her close to him, and she rests her head against his shoulder as they stand by the fire. "I want to marry you in front of the hearttree at Winterfell," Jon says, after a long, quiet moment. "If we are to be wed then I want it to be there, after we take it back. If. . . if you'll marry me."

"Of course I'll marry you, Jon Snow, my reputation depends on it," Val teases, and Jon mouth quirks into a small smile. "But only if you'll do one thing for me, tonight." 

"And what is that?" 

"Come to bed." 

Val takes the cup from Jon and places it on the table before taking his hand and leading him to the side of the bed. He stands before her awkwardly, his hands fidgeting at his sides as Val begins to undress in front of him, removing her shawl, and then her dress, leaving her in only her shift. With each step she thinks maybe he will reach for her, will help her with the laces, will pull her shift over her head, but it is only when Val is standing fully naked in front of him does Jon let out a jagged sigh as he takes in the sight of her. 

"Are you going to undress?" Val asks, looking at him still in his shirt and breeches. "Or must I do that for you as well too?" 

She reaches for his shirt at his waist but he is already pulling it off, so she ghosts her fingertips over his hips, likes the way he shudders softly under her touch. "You can touch me too, you know," she says, and Jon's hands rise, to clutch her just above her waist, his hand sliding even higher over her ribcage to cup one of her breasts in his hand. 

His hand is rough, calloused and well worn, but he's warm, and he rubs the pad of his thumb over the soft flesh of her nipple, and it pebbles with a with shiver of pleasure along Val's spine. He presses his mouth along her collarbone, at the curve where her neck meets her shoulder, and up along the side of her face to suck softly at the skin behind her ear, where her pulse is strongest against his mouth. 

He lowers her to the bed, his thigh between her legs and his hand on the back of her head. His eyes watch her for a long time, long enough to make Val feel uncertain, raw in a way she has never felt before. "Did you forget how to do this, Jon Snow?" she asks in a low whisper. 

"No," he says, but there is a look in his eyes, a sudden sadness Val has not seen before. "I just never thought I would have this again." 

He takes his time, kissing over the curve of her shoulder, trailing his fingers down along her arm, circling in the middle of Val's palm so lightly that she is surprised by how such a simple gesture could feel so intimate, could make her cunt ache so for him. Sitting between her legs he kissing the inside of her knee, down along the soft skin of her thighs so when he finally trails one fingertip over her sex it is so startling, so unexpected.

Val can feel how easily he moves over her cunt, can feel how wet she is and he spreads it over her cunt with his fingers. His breath is cool on her skin as he blows softly causing her skin tighten like goose flesh, but it is not for long as he presses his open mouth to her cunt, licking and curling his tongue along her folds, over her nub and down to her entrance, his tongue collecting her arousal, lapping it up as though he should die without it. 

Val's hand rubs over his head, playing with his curls as his mouth works over her. She has never known a man as thorough or as dedicated as Jon Snow, Val knows she should not be surprised he is the same in her bed, but she is and she peaks with her hand cupping her own breast and Jon's mouth licking along the crease of her thighs, pressing kisses over the soft curls now damp from her wetness. He moves to cover her cunt with his mouth again and Val tightens her grip on his hair, pulling his head to look up at her. 

"Are you trying to kill me before you wed me?" Val asks, and Jon's brow furrows in confusion for a moment, and then he smiles bashfully, laughing as he presses a few wet kisses to her thighs. 

Val guides him onto his back, slipping over his waist to straddle him, to take him inside her; she rides him slowly, her body rocking over him, around him. She slides her hands along his arms that extend above his head, and her hands slip into his, their fingers weaving together. 

He takes her twice more that night, each time longer and slower and more intense with every nip of their teeth at each other's skin, with every thrust of their hips until it is nearing dawn, and they lay together slick and damp, despite the cold that waits for them just outside their tent. 

“I won’t stay behind,” Val says to Jon, her head on his chest. “I’m a spearwife just as much as any of the other women. I can kill men just as well as you.” 

Jon takes her hand in his, holds it to his mouth as he kisses her knuckles, “I’m counting on it.”


End file.
